We All Change
by kclaura2003
Summary: Collection of one-shots spotlighting each character in their own POV. Jumps from season to season. Mostly canon, may go a little AU. Rated T for themes and some language.
1. Looks And Stares (Lori)

**We All Change**

**Hello, thanks for checking out my story! This will be a collection of one-shots of all the different characters first-person POVs. They are in no particular order. I will tell you which season and episode they are based on at the start of each one. They will jump around from season to season. I'm going to try to keep them mostly canon as I can, although some might go a little AU at times. **

**This is a Lori one-shot set at the farm sometime after the events of 18 Miles Out, S2 E10.**

**I do not own The Walking Dead. **

**Enjoy! :)**

Looks And Stares***** (Lori)

As I wring out one of Rick's long sleeve shirts I catch a glimpse of my wedding band. The sunlight bounces off the gold band I've been wearing for fifteen years or maybe it's been sixteen now, I'm not sure, it's impossible to keep track of time anymore.

My eyes scan the Greene family's farm, a truly beautiful piece of land.

I shake out the shirt, hang it up on the line, reach down and grab another article of clothing: this one is Carl's T-shirt, the one with the bear claw footprint on it. I glance over at my little boy, sitting adjacent from me, who is not so little anymore it dawns on me. He must of sensed me watching him.

"_What_, Mom?" Carl asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice, probably still mad at me for making him stay put and within my eyesight.

I smile, unable to control it. I shake my head and mutter:

"Nothing, baby."

Carl sighs. I know he wishes he could be with his father. Rick is like Superman to Carl. But he and Shane are off somewhere dealing with that situation with the boy, Randall.

I dip the shirt in the soapy water, take my brush, and scrub. The old barrel I'm doing laundry in wasn't like the Whirlpool I had, that was for sure.

I hear Carl sigh again.

"Mom? Can I go talk to Daryl?"

I chuckle and keep on scrubbing as I answer:

"Honey…Daryl's not the talkative kind. Don't think that would be a good idea."

I don't even need to look up to know my son is fidgeting, growing impatient.

"Well, can I go talk to Dale and Andrea?"

I can't help but grin at his desperation to get away from me. I look up and meet his pleading blue eyes; the eyes he got from his father. Carl gestures to the RV with his head. I spot the old man and the blonde woman keeping watch on top of the mobile home.

"Go on," I tell Carl. "But don't pester them too much…if they're busy you come right back here, understand?"

My words are already falling on deaf ears. Carl is halfway across the yard, taking long strides toward the RV.

"Hey!" I shout at him.

He freezes and slowly turns around. He stares at me anxiously, worried that I've changed my mind.

"You go over there; you stay there…you hear me, Carl? Don't go wandering off. I'll be checking on you in ten minutes."

He nods but even from this distance I can tell he rolled his eyes. "OK, Mom."

Carl tears off, running the rest of the way toward the RV. I watch as Dale and Andrea smile and wave to him as he approaches. Andrea stands, climbs down the ladder, and says something to Carl. Carl's mouth moves, he points his finger at the top of the RV, and Andrea hesitates. She glances up, her eyes scanning for me and when she spots me, her face is one I can read: Carl wants to be on lookout. I give a curt nod and she turns back to Carl. His face lights up and in a split second he's climbing the ladder and right next to Dale, peppering him with questions, no doubt.

Andrea lingers for minute, her hands on the sides of the ladder, one foot on the first step and then she turns her head and looks back at me. We make eye contact. I notice she holds her gaze for a second too long, it's that second too long when eye contact between you and somebody you don't know very well becomes uncomfortable.

I quickly avert my eyes back to the laundry and realize I've been scrubbing Carl's shirt so long, I'm beginning to scratch the ink on the bear claw footprint. When I glance up again, Andrea is back on top of the RV with Dale and my son sitting in between them. I wring out the shirt and hang it on the line, Andrea's face still burned into my mind.

I should be getting used to the looks…the _stares_ the members of the group give me by now. Andrea and I haven't really spoken to each other since our argument in the Greene's kitchen over Beth's suicidal mood. What had started out as a discussion over the well-being of the deeply depressed teenager turned into a debate on which one of us was living in a fantasy world.

I told Andrea she wasn't pulling her weight. I told her she needed to stop pretending to be one of the boys and start helping us women. She told me I was crazy, actually called me "insane" claiming I take Rick's return and Carl's recovery for granted. What really hurt was when she accused me of acting like the "queen bee".

At the time, Andrea's words cut so deeply and she left me standing there in the kitchen rendered speechless. I'd tell her something now: I don't proclaim to be the "queen bee" of anything. If my words and actions up to this point have demonstrated otherwise, I would take them all back and humbly step down from my so-called "throne". I didn't ask to be the "queen bee"; just like my husband didn't ask to be the leader of this group.

I start washing another shirt. I glance up and see Glenn walking by, heading toward the house, no doubt looking for Maggie. Despite everything we've all seen and been through, the young man still has a bounce to his step; there's a vitality in him that no one else in the group has. He catches my eye, flashes me a quick smile, but I pick up the sense of worry in his brown eyes as he turns to walk up the porch steps to the front door.

Everywhere I go, there is always somebody giving me a look, a stare. Glenn, Dale and Beth wondering how I am going to bring a baby into this world we live in now? Andrea glaring at me, thinking I'm full of myself; believing I'm living in la-la-land because my both my husband and son are alive and well while everybody else has lost somebody they cannot ever get back. My dear friend, Carol, tossing me sideways glances: worried about me being pregnant, yes…but I also know she is resenting Rick, holding my husband accountable for her daughter's death. Maggie's bright green eyes burning into mine, telepathically telling me to stay out of the situation with her sister. Hershel's face when I asked the farmer if he was in over his head after Carl was shot and he simply replied: "Ma'am…I think we all are."

The only two that don't stare at me…that don't give me looks, that I've noticed anyway are T-Dog and Daryl. The black man and the redneck, both are such polar opposites on the surface, but the more I think it about it the more I see similarities between the two. Both are men of few words and they both step up without question. They both care about us all but somehow they manage to keep their emotions in check; quite a feat when emotions are always running high. I never interact much with either one. Sometimes I exchange a pleasantry or two with T-Dog and just as I told my son I know Daryl is not much for small talk.

I wring out the shirt, shake it and hang it on the line as I glance over to where Daryl's motorcycle sits outside his tent. He's probably not even there, more than likely out hunting. The only look I can remember getting from him was when we split up into groups trying to find Sophia just after she ran off.

Andrea had been in a mood. She started to pick a fight with me, for whatever reason, I think it was because Dale confiscated her gun. I had taken a seat on a stump, the heat and the stress of the day killing me and here was this woman bitching to me about a stupid gun. Irritated, I gave her mine, telling her to take it and stop giving me those damn looks. Before I knew it, I was telling every single of one them to stop looking at me the way they did. I don't know what brought it on but once the words spewed out of my mouth; they couldn't stop rolling. I told them to back off of Rick. I told them he's not perfect. I asked which one of them would have gone after Sophia the way he did and not a single person had an answer. That's what I thought, I concluded mentally as I took a swig from my water bottle.

That was when I caught the only look Daryl ever gave me. His blue eyes were fixed on me, quietly assessing me and what I'd said. I could of swore I seen the corner of his mouth go up just barely, like he was trying to hold back a smile. It wasn't a mocking, _you're-cute-when-you're-mad _kind of smile but something about his face registered respect, or at the very least - he was impressed.

Regardless, everybody's looks and stares pale in comparison to the ones Shane and Rick give me. Shane always glancing longingly at me. I can tell he's trying to use those brown puppy-dog like eyes to get me to remember. Remember how he rescued Carl and I and how he protected us. He wants me to remember him holding me in his arms in the tent back at the quarry. His eyes practically scream at me: Don't you remember, Lori? Don't you remember the stolen kisses? The love we made?

I do remember. It weighs on my heart and on my conscious like nothing else. We've had the conversation. He knows whatever we had is over yet I know it's breaking him on the inside, eating him up. Shane was good to me and good to Carl, always has been. I never intended to hurt him.

I never intended to hurt Rick either. I thought for sure he was dead. The hospital was the one of the first places they started bringing people that were infected with the virus and when Shane told me the place had been overrun…that the military couldn't even control it anymore - what was I supposed to think? When I saw Rick step out of that van back at the quarry, I thought I was hallucinating. I thought it couldn't be possible…he had to be a ghost. But when Carl ran straight to his father's arms, I knew it was real. I flung myself into his arms and balled my eyes out.

It hasn't been easy since then. We love each other so much yet there's this incredible strain between the two of us. It's like our marriage has become this open wound. A band-aid is covering it but at any moment it can be ripped off and the wound will never completely heal, all because of me and what I did. This pregnancy complicates things even further. I sometimes sense Rick looking at me but unlike everybody else I'm never quite sure what he's thinking despite being married to him all these years.

I finish the last of the laundry and set off toward the RV to get Carl. I turn as I hear a car approaching on the long dirt road leading up to the Greene's property. I take my hand and shield the glare of the sun as I watch Rick and Shane get out of the car; something must have gone wrong…there must have been a close call…they're both bloody and beaten. They walk around to the trunk, pop it open, and pull out a tied up and blindfolded Randall. They didn't go through with the plan of leaving the boy behind somewhere, God only knows what happened.

Shane pushes Randall toward the barn and Rick starts walking toward camp. At first, his head is down and his brow is wrinkled. I know his mind is spinning… it's another damn issue that has to be solved…it's more pressure on him…more impossible decisions to make. He looks up and spots me, his handsome yet tired face remains stern. He wants to talk to me I can tell. I start to make my way toward him. Once again, the sun catches my wedding band, this time the light bounces off the diamond. As I meet my husband halfway I hope he can read my face just like I can with everybody else: I love you, Rick and I always will.

**(*****This was a stand-alone but I decided to move it in here. **I thank all of you that favorited it. )

**Up Next: Carol **


	2. On My Own (Carol)

**Take places in S4, E4 after Indifference. **

On My Own (Carol)

I start the engine and put the car in gear. I circle the cul-de-sac and cast one last glance at Rick as I drive off. His brow is furrowed. His blue eyes are so narrowed they almost look completely shut. He wears that familiar stern, disheartening stare that he's so good at making - in a way I'm glad I won't have to see it anymore. I know the man kept me and so many of us alive for so long, doing the best he could with what little options he had. I guess I never stopped to realize just how much pressure he was under as our decision maker and leader. All that doesn't matter anymore now. Rick stepped down as leader not long after we took in the former Woodbury residents.

I leave the suburban neighborhood and head out on a long stretch of abandoned highway. The tall, skinny pine trees line the road on each side. It suddenly dawns on me that I have no idea where I think I'm going. I pass a road sign that tells me I'm heading south. That's fine, I tell myself. If I keep on going and if this clunker station wagon remains reliable enough I might just make it to Florida, who knows? Maybe some place with a coast, a large body of water would be safe - the walkers can't swim, can they?

I catch my reflection in the rear view mirror and roll my eyes. What do I think I'm doing?! What did _Rick_ think he was doing by turning me out?! Picturing Rick's stupid hard glare makes me pound my fist on the steering wheel. He told me he was doing this for my own good - that Tyreese would kill me the minute he knew I killed his girlfriend and the others would never be able to accept what I did. But I knew better. Rick meant that _he _couldn't accept it - _he_ didn't want me around anymore plain and simple.

I could feel those looks he gave me when we came across that young couple in the house in the cul-de-sac. Rick doesn't know what to think of me anymore. He's probably thinking he never really knew me at all. I don't even know what to think of myself anymore but then again: _who_ does know who they are anymore?! None of us are who we were in our past lives.

But it's different because it's me. As far as I know, everybody still sees me as that woman back at the quarry: meek as a mouse and walking on eggshells around my dirt-bag husband. That's what Merle thought I still was, granted he hadn't been around to see the changes in me.

That woman doesn't exist anymore, I think as I round a bend in the road. I told Beth if Ed was still alive I'd tell him to "go to hell" but deep down I know he would have never made it this far. The man was worthless. Everything I told Rick about Ed was true: I was afraid of being alone.

I never got much attention from boys growing up and in a sad, pitiful move on my part I ran off and married the first guy that came along : enter Ed Peletier. He was decent looking, made good money, and charming that first year. But they say you're always on your best behavior when you're dating someone. It wasn't long after we got married, his true colors began to show. The only things Ed gave me was years of: stress, fear, grief, black eyes, dislocated shoulders, a pocket watch on our first anniversary and Sophia - perhaps the only positive thing he ever gave me.

I feel my hands shake and I let the steering wheel slip, almost running off the road. I regain my composure, grip the wheel and shift myself in the seat. I look down at the speedometer and realizing I'm going about 80 mph. I don't care. As long as I'm getting to wherever the hell I'm going - I'll get there quick.

My mind drifts back to Sophia, my only child. I think of how soft her strawberry blonde hair felt in my fingertips and the warmth of her tiny body pressed to mine when I would hold her close. Shane kept going on about how it was too late but the others helped me stick it out. None more so than Daryl.

Daryl. I feel the corner of my mouth turn up into a smirk as I imagine how Rick is on his the way back to the prison now, racking his brain, trying to come up with an explanation for Daryl about my absence.

Out of everybody else in the group, Daryl is the one I felt myself drawn to the most. I know he's what most people call a redneck and he is but so was Ed and he was a completely different kind of redneck - not even in the same league as Daryl. We got off to a bumpy start, Daryl and I. We never interacted much until Sophia's disappearance. He tried so hard to find my little girl, harder than anybody else did - myself included. After her death, the walls I had broken down he immediately threw back up and he said some ugly things to me I know he didn't mean. I know he's been abused in his life, just as I was, even though he's never talked about it with me. Maybe that's why I gravitated toward him the way I did.

He never would take me up on any of my flirtations as obvious as some of them were. He's a smart man; he knew what I hinted at several times but he always let it ride with a grin and a nervous chuckle. As frustrating as it was, his graceful rejection of my advances kind of made me appreciate him even more. Most guys jump when a sexual opportunity presents itself. He's no saint and he'd be the first to admit that but all in all: Daryl Dixon is a rare, special breed of man.

Out of the corner of my eye I see figures just off the road - walkers, maybe three or four them feeding on something, God only knows what. The sound of the car whizzing by makes them look up, snarl and start to stand. I don't need to glance in the rear view mirror to know they are starting to limp down the road but they'll never catch up. I'm long gone and even if they were closing in around me now - I wouldn't be afraid. I'm not afraid anymore. I can do this, I tell myself.

My conscious reminds me of everybody who has saved me in some way shape or form at one time or another. I think of Andrea trying to protect me when the farm went down. She never would have been separated from us if hadn't been for me. I think of T-Dog sacrificing himself so I could escape the walkers when we entered the prison. So far I think his death has been the most heroic out of anyone else's. Daryl, driving me off the farm on the back of his motorcycle; scooping me up in his arms when he found me days after T-Dog's death. Axel, inadvertently becoming my human shield, after he took a bullet in the head from The Governor. Rick, only days ago, when I was foolish enough to go draw water despite there being a shitload of walkers around. I'd most definitely would be dead now if he hadn't been there. Hell, I could even add Shane to the list of my defenders: the way he mercilessly beat the ever-living shit out of Ed after he slapped me.

Only two out of the six are still alive and they aren't here to save me now - nobody is. My mind keeps drifting back to Rick, wondering if he's made it back to the prison by now and what he's telling the group. I keep my foot on the gas pedal as I continue driving down the winding road. I don't know what Rick will say about me. I don't even know where he's going to begin to explain. No matter what he says I hope he tells them not to worry about me. Tell them I'm gonna be OK, Rick. Tell them I've got a car, weapons, and supplies. Tell 'em I can handle this. Most of all, tell them - especially Daryl - not to come looking for me. Tell 'em I don't need a savior anymore. For the first time in my life: I can make it on my own.

**Up Next: Hershel**


	3. I'll Die Here (Hershel)

I'll Die Here (Hershel)

**Take place during S2, E13 "Beside The Dying Fire".**

We're all standing on the front porch when we see a pair of figures emerge from the woods of my land. My immediate thought was it's Rick and Shane returning. However, soon, more figures appear and then even more - its almost as if they are multiplying themselves.

I feel the others watching too; gasps escape from their mouths. We all gape as we start to realize there is a herd of walkers swarming onto my farm. I feel my old heart beat rapidly. Pride swells up in my chest. I tell myself this can't be happening but it clearly is.

"Patricia," I call to my deceased farmhand's wife. "Kill the lights."

Andrea bristles. "I'll go get the guns."

Glenn suggests the herd will pass through and we all should just go inside to hide.

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about." Daryl counters. "Herd that size will rip the house down."

Lori bursts through the front door, panicked, but for a different reason.

"Where's Carl?!" She cries.

"He's not in the house?" somebody asks.

"I don't know," Lori says. "I couldn't find him…"

I'm not listening anymore. Andrea has returned with the guns and I waste no time loading as many shells as I can in the chamber of a Remington shotgun. Andrea devises a strategy to kill as many walkers as we can and use the vehicles to lead them off the farm.

"You're serious?!" Daryl asks, dubious.

I cock the shotgun.

"You can go if you want," I tell them all. "This is my farm. I'll die here."

The redneck shrugs, grabs up his crossbow, swings his legs over the side of the porch and takes off. I think I catch him mutter something like, "Alright! Tonight's as good as any," in response to my "I'll die here" statement.

You damn straight about that, son, I think as I descend the steps of the porch.

I position myself square in front of my house, my feet firmly planted. I aim my shotgun, waiting for the dead to arrive on my doorstep. I briefly think about all the possible ways a farmer can lose his land. Bad soil, drought, crops don't yield enough harvest, the bank doesn't come through with the loan - the list could go on and on. I thought I'd lose the farm many a time over the years but I never once imagined it would be because what was coming toward me now.

Behind me, I can hear the others scrambling around: making up plans, getting the vehicles, loading their weapons, their voices shouting this and that. I'm not listening. I don't care.

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, you sons of bitches, I think as the dead inch closer and closer. There's been one time in the past where I've had to shoot at trespassers on my land. It was to scare off some teenagers when they thought they were going to tip over my cows. However, this is more serious than just a few ornery teenagers out for kicks.

I see smoke coming from the barn and soon it is engulfed in flames. The dead shamble toward my house, my _home_ that has been in my family for a hundred and sixty years.

I start firing off rounds, one after the other. They drop like flies but more and more keep coming. The living dead walking toward me and the barn a blazing inferno: if this isn't a picture of hell than I don't know what is.

Behind me, I hear Lori screaming my name.

"Hershel!" She yells. "Hershel, it's time to go, _now_!"

I ignore her. I become a robot; pumping the gun and firing off rounds nonstop. I back up when I run out. I'm not going to stop. I'm not going to give up. I scramble to reload when a gunshot goes off so close to me I am rendered temporary deaf. Something falls next to my feet; the body of a walker.

I turn and see Rick, his .357 Colt Python still aimed.

"C'mon!" He says.

I don't remember much after that. I'm sure I fought him a little bit but Rick pulls me away, forces me and his son in a car and we tear off.

I sit in the backseat, watching my farm go down. The dead have completely swarmed the property. The barn begins to crumble. As I watch it fall, I think of a verse in 2 Peter:

"But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare."

So there it is, I think. It _is_ the end times. God first destroyed the world with water and He said the second time would be with fire.

I turn away. I can't look anymore. Where are my daughters? Did Patricia and Jimmy make it? What about Rick's people?

Rick drives to the main highway. He says that would be the place everyone would regroup at but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. I have to give it to the man: he tries so hard to lead us all; to keep us safe. I'm glad he can be the rock for us because all I want to do is cry.

**Up Next: Shane**


End file.
